Children of Eve
by Beth Arritt
Summary: A VCTF case brings up painful memories for John Grant


Profiler and its characters belong to CS, GG, S/MP, NBC and SK. Most of all, they truly belong to the wonderful cast and crew who bring them to life. I don't own them at all (although whether or not they own me is still up in the air), and I promise not to hurt them and to put them back when I'm done playing without making any money off them at all. Of course, lack of monetary gain from writing means feedback to betha@gwis2.circ.gwu.edu is even more appreciated! 

Children of Eve by Beth Arritt Copyright 1998 "Not all nightmares are over at dawn..." 

Atlanta had more than its share of violent crimes¸ so no one was overly surprised to be called to a local crime scene. Sam, Bailey and John took a car to an alley less than ten miles from the VCTF offices. As they got out of the car, Sam spotted Grace waiting for them at the edge of the scene. 

"What have we got?" Sam asked, as they stepped under the crime scene tape. She looked around, squinting in the bright morning sun, trying to get a feel for the area while she waited for the answer. 

"Over here," Grace replied, leading the three of them over to the body. "It's not pretty." 

When Sam looked down, she couldn't keep an "Oh my God" from escaping her lips. The victim was a young boy who couldn't have been more than 13 or 14. His body was severely bruised, bloody and probably broken in several places, and he was naked. She looked away, and noticed that even John was having difficulty with this particular scene. 

"We found his clothes in that dumpster over there," Grace continued. "I think he was killed last night, probably sometime before one. Cause of death appears to be either a massive brain hemorrhage or a broken neck, I won't know for sure until I get him back to the lab." 

"There's a lot of blood," Sam commented. "Did the killer use a knife?" 

Grace shook her head. "He did all of this with his bare hands." 

*** 

That afternoon, Sam dropped by the lab. "Hey, Grace, anything on this morning's case?" 

"Just finishing up now," Grace replied, indicating the boy lying on the table. 

Sam forced herself to look at him, her revulsion at the crime returning with even more force. "How could anyone do this to a child?" 

Grace shook her head. "Figuring out how is your department. I'll tell you this, though, whoever it was really did a number on this kid. Five broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, massive trauma to the head, more broken bones than I can put together... he's a mess." 

Sam looked at the boy's face and started to imagine what he must have gone through, but she couldn't make it very far before she had to stop. "I don't know how you do it. I can barely force myself to look at him or imagine the crime, and you have to make an inventory of his injuries." 

"It's the only way I can help him," she said with a shrug. "It is hard, though. I keep thinking about Jason and imagining him like this...." 

"I know. I do the same thing with Chloe sometimes. It's hard not to, no matter how many times you try to put it out of your head. But like you said, it's the only way to help him." 

John's voice from the doorway was a welcome distraction. "Bailey wants us in the command center." 

"I have to finish up the report," Grace said. "Tell him I'll be about five more minutes." 

"Okay. Sam?" 

"Be right there." She noticed John avoided looking at the victim and left as quickly as he could. "Did that seem odd to you?" she asked after he was gone. 

"What, John?" 

"Yeah, he couldn't wait to get out of here." 

Grace shrugged. "A case like this is hard on everyone, I guess. Nobody likes to see a person treated like this, but when it's a child...." 

"I suppose." It seemed like more, but the only way to find out was to wait and see. 

*** 

Bailey was the last to arrive in the command center. "Okay, what do we have?" 

John was the first to speak up. "We got an ID on the kid. His mother reported him missing this morning. She had him fingerprinted years ago, so we made the match pretty easily. His name is Robert Wycleff. He was fourteen. Lived less than a mile from where we found him." 

"Does the mother have an alibi?" Bailey asked. 

"She works a night shift at Coke. Based on Grace's report, she was at work when the murder occurred." 

Sam turned to John. "Who was watching her son?" 

"He stayed by himself, but there's a neighbor who's supposed to check in on him. She saw him at ten pm and he said he was going to bed. The mother got home at about five this morning and he wasn't there." 

"So either he was kidnapped out of his apartment, or he left after ten and was grabbed somewhere else," Sam said thoughtfully. 

"No sign of forced entry. If he was kidnapped, he knew the person who took him." 

Sam shrugged. "Kids don't always know not to open the door." 

"I think this one might have. His mother was pretty protective, especially since she worked nights. She has an alarm system in the apartment, she even took the little precautions like fingerprinting and keeping current pictures of him. I don't think she'd forget to teach him not to open the door to strangers." 

"Okay." Something about his tone wasn't quite right, but she couldn't put a finger on what. "So then he probably left of his own free will. Does she know what he was doing before he came home?" 

"He played ball with some friends that afternoon, then came home and had dinner with her before she left for work. The neighbor checked on him at eight, and again at ten, and he was alone as far as she could tell. The next time anybody saw him was when he was found in the alley." 

"Well somebody saw him," Sam said softly. She saw John's mouth tighten at her comment, but he didn't say anything. He stayed silent and stared mostly at the file in front of him as Grace gave them the basic information from the autopsy. Of course, nobody spent a lot of time looking at the screen when the pictures of the crime scene came up. But he wasn't even looking up. 

The meeting finally broke up, and everyone began filing out of the room. Sam watched as John made a bee-line for the door, then made a decision and followed him. She caught sight of him just as he headed into the men's room, so she stood outside and waited for him. When he came out he was so focused on his thoughts he didn't even see her, so she took a couple of quick strides and fell into step beside him. "Hey." 

He seemed startled to realize she was there. "Oh, hi." 

"What's up with you?" 

"What?" 

"You. What's wrong?" 

He looked away from her. "Nothing." 

"Yeah, right. Come on, this is me. What's going on?" 

"I told you, nothing." They came to a halt at the top of the stairs. "I have a lot to do, so if you're done grilling me, can I get back to work now?" 

She gave him an odd look. "Sure." 

"Thanks." He hurried down the steps to his desk without looking back. 

*** 

Two days later, John literally ran into Sam in the hallway. "Sorry about that," he muttered as he helped her pick up the papers she'd dropped. 

"It's okay." She took a close look at him. "You just getting in?" 

"Yeah, I didn't sleep well last night." 

"It shows," Sam commented as she took the last paper from him. "Can I talk to you in my office for a minute?" 

He hesitated. "I have a lot to do. Can't it wait?" 

"I don't think so." 

John took a deep breath, then shrugged. "Sure." He followed her to the office and stood in the middle of the room as she shut the door. 

"What's wrong with you?" 

"I've just been having trouble sleeping, that's all." When she didn't say anything, he continued. "I'm fine. I swear." 

She stared at him for a long moment. "Fine, if you say so. But you'd come to me if you needed to talk, right?" 

"I promise, if I have anything I want to talk about, I'll come to you, okay?" After a second, she nodded. "Can I go now?" 

"Yes." He practically fled out the door and down to his desk, leaving Sam to stare after him with a frown. 

*** 

An hour later he knocked on her door, looking even worse than before. "What's up?" 

"We have to go. They found another one." 

They met Bailey and Grace at the car and drove to another alley, this one only blocks away from the first one. Just like the previous scene, there was a teenage boy, naked and beaten to death. Sam took a deep breath to control herself, then looked at John. His gaze was fixed on a nearby dumpster where police were searching for clues. She moved to his side to see if he was okay, but just then there was a shout from the police at the dumpster that they had found the boy's clothes, and John walked off to investigate. 

With a sigh, Sam turned back to the victim, steeled her mind against the horror and forced herself to do her job. 

*** 

Sam wanted to talk to John again when they got back to the VCTF, but he disappeared on her, and it was an hour before she saw him back at his desk. She didn't think the middle of an open room full of desks and agents was the best place to grill him, so she decided to wait. She buried herself in the case report, and when she resurfaced a couple of hours later, he was off talking to the victim's family, having traced them using a library card found in the victim's pocket. 

She hung around as long as she could, waiting for him to come back, but she had a date with Chloe that she couldn't break, so she ended up having to leave before he ever made it back to the office. She even tried to call him three times that night, but he wasn't answering his phone, and she didn't think leaving a message was a good idea. 

*** 

For the next two days, John avoided her. Sam was practically ready to give up, but for some reason, she couldn't do it. She sat at the table in the command center, staring at him while one part of her brain analyzed the update on the case. She almost didn't realize what George meant when he said, "We've got another one," but when she saw John's reaction, it sunk in. 

"Another murder?" 

"Not exactly. This one lived." 

"Well what are we waiting for?" Bailey asked. "Sam, John, go talk to him." 

John hesitated, then nodded. He got up and hurried out, leaving Sam to catch up. 

*** 

Neither of them spoke on the short drive to the hospital. They found the room where the latest victim was lying in a hospital bed, looking worse than anything they'd seen in the recent boxing case. His mother was sitting next to the bed, watching him sleep. 

"Mrs. Rose?" Sam asked. 

The mother looked up and nodded. "Are you with the police?" 

"No ma'am, we're with the FBI. I'm Agent Samantha Waters, and this is Agent John Grant. We were wondering if we could talk to Tommy for a moment." 

"Tommy's sleeping--" 

Tommy moved slightly. "Not sleeping," he mumbled. 

"You're supposed to be resting." 

"I know, but I can't." 

She smoothed his hair back off his forehead, then looked back at Sam. "You'll make it short?" 

Sam nodded. "Do you mind if we talk to him alone?" 

Mrs. Rose hesitated, then nodded. "I'll be right outside if you need me." 

"Thank you." Sam had a feeling she'd be listening, but if she were out of the room, her son might be a little more forthcoming. As soon as his mother was gone, Sam turned to the boy and introduced herself and John. 

"I heard you telling Mom who you are. What do you want?" 

"We were hoping you could tell us something about the person who did this to you." 

He closed his eyes for a moment, then squinted up at them again. "I'd rather not talk about it." 

"I know, but anything you tell us could help us catch him so he doesn't do this to anyone else." 

"Or he could get set free and come after me." He turned his head to look out the window. "I watch TV, I know how that works." 

"Tommy--" Sam stopped when John placed his hand on her arm. 

"You know, if you stop squinting, your eye will hurt a lot less." 

The boy looked at him in surprise. "What do you know?" 

John laughed. "You should have seen me about two months ago. I got into a fight, and I was a mess. Broke my arm, fractured my leg, made my face look like it'd been through a blender." 

Tommy seemed interested. "What'd you do to the other guy?" 

"He was pretty messed up, but I definitely got the worse end of the deal." 

"Why'd you let him beat up on you?" 

"I didn't let him beat up on me. He was bigger and stronger. There wasn't anything I could do about it. But when it was all over, I put him in jail." 

He thought about that for a moment. "So you won, huh?" 

"You could say that, yeah." 

The room was silent for a minute before Tommy spoke again. "The guy, he wasn't that big, but he was still bigger than me. He hung around the gym once in a while, even though he was older than we were. He'd play ball a little, show us how a couple of tricks to use in a game, that kinda stuff." 

"So you knew him?" Sam asked. 

"Sorta. Like I said, he hung out there sometimes." 

"Did he stop you when you were leaving the gym?" 

"Nah, he told me he knew how I could earn some money. My mom's great, but she doesn't have much extra cash. I wanted to get money of my own so I could do some stuff with my friends and buy some stuff. I'd been talking about getting a job, but I hadn't asked my mom yet, and then Dale said he knew how I could get money." 

"His name is Dale?" 

"That's what we called him. Anyway, he said to meet him at 10:30 outside the gym and he'd have something for me. When I showed up, he took me to that alley and then he...well, you know the rest." 

"Yeah," Sam said. "Tommy, do you think you could describe him so we could draw a picture of him?" 

"I can try." 

"Okay, we'll send an artist over here. Thank you for helping us. I know it wasn't easy." 

He nodded in John's direction. "If he can get pounded and put the guy in jail, why can't I?" 

Sam smiled. "Let us know if you think of anything else that might help, okay?" 

"Sure." 

*** 

"You were great with him," Sam said as they left the hospital. 

John shrugged. "It's easy enough to calm somebody's fears if you understand them." 

"You seemed to understand his pretty well. Any particular reason?" 

"I'm well-acquainted with what it feels like to get beat up." 

She was sure there was more to it than that, but he wasn't giving anything away, so she let it go for now. 

*** 

George punched a few keys, and a sketch appeared on the screen. "This is the sketch based on the description given by Tommy Rose. He's supposedly about five foot nine, blonde hair, blue eyes, and 'normal-looking.'" 

"Looks can be deceiving," Bailey commented. 

"So how do we find him so he doesn't 'deceive' another kid to death?" John asked. 

Sam stared at the sketch for a moment as she thought. "He appears to favor local gyms, so we watch." 

"You think he'll strike again anytime soon after screwing up the last one?" 

"I think he'll strike again *because* he messed up. A guy like this builds these activities up in his head. He fantasizes about what he'll do, he dreams about it. But he doesn't act on it until something triggers it. Once that urge is triggered, and he acts, nothing else matters to him, not really. Right now, he's frustrated because he didn't get to finish what he started. He's going to want to try again, and soon. He won't be able to stop himself." 

"He'll go after Rose?" John asked. 

Sam shook her head. "No, he's smart enough to know better than to try to get to Tommy in the hospital." 

"So he's intelligent?" 

"Well, he knows enough not to try something that will get him caught. If he gets caught, then he won't be able to continue. And that's what's important to him. But if he tries it on someone else, there's less danger." 

"Then we keep surveillance on the gyms in the afternoons and see where he pops up." Bailey checked his watch. "It's too late to catch him at one of the gyms today." 

"Not if he arranged to meet a boy there." 

"Okay, then we watch them tonight. Marcus, you're with John, Sam, you're with me, George, coordinate things from here. I'll get you a list of the rest of the surveillance teams." 

Everyone went back to their desks, except for Sam, who followed Bailey to his office. She waited until they were both inside before asking, "Do you mind taking Marcus along and letting me ride with John?" 

He looked at her sharply. "Is there something I should know about?" 

"No, I just...there's something about this case that seems to be getting to him, and I want to keep an eye on him." 

"Is it affecting his performance?" 

"Nothing like that, I'm just concerned for him, that's all." 

Bailey shrugged. "Okay." 

*** 

John was already in the car when Sam got into the passenger seat. "Hi." 

He looked around. "Where's Payton?" 

"Change of plans. He's riding with Bailey." 

His expression changed from confused to wary. "Why?" 

Sam shrugged. "Can we go now?" 

"Whatever." He threw the car into reverse and squealed the tires as he took off. 

*** 

Hours later, John looked at his watch for the hundredth time. "It's after eleven, he's not going to show." 

"He may have set the meet for later. It would be safer." She frowned when he yawned. "John, why don't you take a nap? I can wake you up if anything happens." 

"Nah, I'll be okay. I'll just close my eyes." Within minutes, he was fast asleep. Half an hour later, Sam was beginning to wonder if he was right. It was closing in on midnight, and there was still no sign of the suspect. She was considering waking John when he started mumbling. 

"John?" she called softly. He moved a little and continued mumbling. "John?" She placed her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. He woke up suddenly, grabbed her arm with his left had and pulled back his right arm in preparation to hit her, until he realized who it was. 

"Sam?" He blinked a few times. 

"Who did you expect?" 

He dropped her arm. "Oh, Christ, I'm sorry," he said tiredly, as he relaxed against the seat. 

"What is with you?" 

He rubbed his face with his hands. "Nothing. Just a nightmare." 

"Is that what's been keeping you awake? Nightmares?" He didn't answer. "Come on, John, you can't sleep, you're starting to have trouble focusing, and you were so wired when you woke up from that dream that you almost hit me. What kind of nightmares are you having?" 

"Leave it alone, Sam." 

"I've been leaving it alone; that's not working. Sooner or later you're going to have to talk to someone." 

He finally looked up, but he didn't look at her. "I've dealt with it this long," he said as he stared straight ahead. "I can handle it." 

"Not if you keep having nightmares that--" 

"They'll go away. They always do." 

"This has happened before?" 

He met her eyes. "You're not going to drop this, are you?" 

"No." Her mouth curved into a small smile. "You should know better." 

He glared at her for a moment, his jaw set, then he sighed. "I don't know if I can talk about it. It was a long time ago." 

"Maybe, but it doesn't seem to have faded." 

He sat back in the seat with his eyes closed for several minutes. She was beginning to wonder if he had fallen asleep again when he finally spoke. "You know a little about my father and what he was like when I was a kid, right?" 

"I know what you told me in Boston." 

"Well then you know he equated strength with brute force. And he didn't like to be crossed." He turned his head away from her to stare out the side window. "When I was fourteen, I quit the basketball team. He was pretty pissed that it was the only sport I would play as it was, but when I quit, he went ballistic. No son of his was gonna be a wimp. Most parents want straight A's and good behavior out of their kids, but not my father. He wanted a *son*, one that could do all the important things like play sports and fight and get into trouble...and take over for him one day. But instead he got me." 

He stopped to clear his throat. "Anyway, I, uh, I was fourteen, and I decided I wasn't gonna take it anymore, so I quit the basketball team. To say that my father was not happy was an understatement. He'd hit me before, nothing serious, just a slap here and there when he thought I was out of line, but that day he decided I was hopeless unless he taught me a lesson right then and there." 

She saw him swallow a couple of times while she waited for him to continue. "Look, John, we can continue this later if you want...." 

"No." His voice was getting hoarse. "You wanted to know." He swallowed once more. "His 'lesson' broke my wrist and two of my ribs before my mother came home and found me in the floor and him kicking me. She called an ambulance, and they took me to the hospital and bandaged me up. I was in that hospital bed for a week. Every day my mother and father would come to visit me, and he would look at me in that bed, knowing that he put me there, and pat me on the shoulder and say, 'Don't worry, son, you'll be home soon.' Like he was warning me not to try and do something about it." 

Sam was pretty sure he was crying. She almost wished she hadn't forced the issue tonight, but it was probably the only way she could get the full story. "Did you tell anybody what happened?" she asked softly. 

John nodded. "The first day, an officer came to talk to me. I don't know why, but he came, and I tried to tell him, but before I got very far my parents showed up, and my father started weaving some story for him about bullies following me home and beating up on me before I could stumble into the house." He took a shaky breath. "I looked at my mother, and she looked at me for a second, then she turned her head and said nothing. So I said nothing. I let the cop think that was the truth, and that was that." He tapped his fingers on the armrest for a moment. "Except that I think that was the day my mother started planning our escape. She couldn't defy him, so she'd just disappear and save me. I couldn't stand up to him, so she paid for it with her life." 

"It's not your fault. You were fourteen." 

"Maybe. Who knows, if I had worked out more, or played more sports, or learned how to fight, maybe that day wouldn't have happened. Or even if it had, I would have been able to stand up to him, to fight back. He would have respected that." 

"Look at me." He didn't move. "John. Look at me." After a second, he turned his head. Even in the dim light she could tell his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You were fourteen. You couldn't have done anything to stop him any more than Tommy Rose could stop his attacker. And as for your mother, she made her own decisions. Both with the police, and with running away. She protected you the only way she felt she could. I'd do the same thing for Chloe." 

"I know. I know it's not my fault, and that it's ancient history, and there was nothing I could do. But it doesn't stop me from wishing that I could have done something anyway." 

"You are. You're working to keep it from happening to others. That's all you can do." 

"I suppose." He looked out the window again. "Uh-oh. I think we may have just found our guy." 

*** 

Sam radioed Bailey to let him know that they might have the suspect, then she and John quietly moved closer to the gym. They waited silently for several minutes until they heard the man speak. His words were too quiet to be overheard, but they were followed by a different, louder voice, a voice high-pitched enough to belong to a child. 

After a few more exchanges, Sam heard footsteps moving in the other direction. She sent a silent code across the radio to Bailey, then motioned to John, who took the lead in following the man and the boy. 

They followed for several blocks, until the man led the boy down the alley, then stopped. The stop was so sudden that John nearly rounded the corner, and in stopping himself managed to knock over a garbage can. The pair they were following became very silent, then there was a loud crash, followed by footsteps echoing down the alley. John and Sam hurried around the corner and saw the boy lying in a pile of garbage cans and the suspect running around a building at the end of the road. John raced after him while Sam took care of the boy, but a few minutes later John was back, winded and empty handed. 

"He got away. Dammit!" He kicked a garbage can in frustration. 

"Not now," Sam whispered. Just then, Bailey's car rolled up, followed closely by two other units from the VCTF. 

Bailey jumped out of the car. "What happened?" 

"He got away," John said again. "I had him. He was so close, but I screwed up!" 

"You couldn't help it," Sam argued. 

Bailey looked at one, then the other. "What happened?" he repeated. 

"I kicked the damn trash can and he heard me coming. Ran off before we could catch him. I went after him, but he had too much of a head start and he disappeared." 

"You kicked a trash can?" 

"The guy took an unexpected turn and it was dark," Sam said. "It was unavoidable." 

"It wasn't," John argued. "It was stupid!" 

"That's enough. What's done is done." Bailey looked at Sam questioningly, and she knew he was remembering her concern about John, but she gave a small shake of her head. He sighed, but didn't ask any more, turning his attention to getting as much out of the botched stakeout as he could. 

*** 

Bailey called Sam into his office first thing the next morning. "What really happened last night?" 

"We told you, he kicked a trash can--" 

"I know what you told me. John kicked a trash can? That's a mistake only a stupid rookie would make under normal circumstances. What's going on?" 

"Nothing." 

He sighed. "Look, Sam, if there's something going on that affects the performance of one of my agents I want to know about it." 

"I know, and I would tell you. Whatever is going on with John is not affecting his performance. It was a fluke that he hit the trash can. That's all. Believe me, he's going to be beating himself up over it more than you ever could." 

"You're sure that he'll be okay?" Bailey asked after a long moment. 

"If I see any signs that he's in danger, I'll be the first to tell you." 

He tapped his fingers on his desk for a moment. "Okay," he said finally. "I'll leave it alone for now. But keep an eye on him." 

"I will. Anything else?" He shook his head, so she turned and headed out of his office and straight for John's desk. 

He was about to sit down when he saw her coming down the steps. He stood up again suddenly and grabbed his coffee cup. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked when she reached his desk. 

"Uh, I was just about to go get some coffee." 

"Perfect. I have a fresh pot in my office. It's better than that cafeteria stuff any day." She took his arm and practically led him to her office, shutting the door behind them. "Have a seat," she said as she sat down behind her desk. 

He looked at her warily for a second, then sat down in the seat opposite her. "Look, if this is about last night, I don't want to talk about it." 

"Why?" 

"Because there's no point in dragging up bad memories, it'll just make it worse." 

"Well trying to ignore them doesn't seem to be doing you any good. Look at you. You have dark circles under your eyes, you're yawning...you're obviously exhausted. When's the last time you had a decent night's sleep?" 

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said last night?" 

"From looking at you I'd be more likely to believe you hardly slept at all last night." His expression confirmed her suspicion. "You didn't, did you?" 

"What, are you Bailey's spy now? Is he worried because I screwed up last night?" 

"What happened last night was an accident. It happens. And no, I'm not Bailey's spy. I thought I was your friend." 

"If you're really my friend, then leave me the hell alone and let me get through this my own way." 

"And what way is that? The way that's worked so well for the last fifteen years that you still have nightmares about what happened? Guess what--I don't think that way is working." 

"Dammit, Sam, leave it alone!" He took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself. "I'm sorry. I'm tired, and I don't want to deal with this right now." 

"That's the real problem, isn't it? It's not how you're dealing with it, because you're just trying not to deal with it at all." 

He looked out the window. "Just drop it, okay?" 

"I can't. What happened to you wasn't your fault." 

"I know that." 

"You may know it, but you don't believe it." 

He turned his head to glare at her. "Are we done yet?" 

"You're not going to let me help you, are you?" 

"I don't *need* your help." 

"Fine." She sighed. "Then there's nothing more I can do." 

"That's what I've been trying to tell you." He sat there for a moment, waiting for her to say something else. "Can I go now?" 

"Sure. Do whatever you want. You're going to anyway, why are you waiting for my permission?" 

"Sam--" 

She held up her hand. "If you don't want to talk, I can't make you. I know that." Her voice softened. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me." 

He hesitated. "Thanks," he said finally, then he left. 

She stared after him silently, hoping he changed his mind before his past destroyed his future. 

*** 

That evening, Bailey called Sam into his office again. "This thing with John, you're sure it's not affecting his work?" 

She paused for only a second before answering. "I haven't seen it affect his work." 

"Well, he practically bit two people's heads off today, and those are just the ones I happen to know about. If he's not a hundred percent, I don't want him out in the field." 

"So he's a little irritable. I'd be worried about him if he was suddenly agreeable, but grouchy is just par for the course for John." 

"You're telling me that you're confident that putting him out there isn't going to endanger the rest of the team?" 

"I'm willing to be his partner, would I do that if I thought he would get me killed?" Bailey didn't quite look convinced. "Whatever's going on with him is internal. It's upsetting him, making him irritable and unhappy, but when it comes to work, he's focused. Trust me." 

He studied her for a moment. "Okay, I'll leave him out there, but only if you promise you'll tell me the minute you think I should pull him." 

"I will. But it won't happen." 

"I hope not." 

*** 

She started for her office, then decided to check on John first. He was alone at his desk, looking at something in his hands. The rest of the desks in the area were deserted, making the section eerily silent compared to its normal busy state. As she walked up behind him, she could see the object in his hands was a faded picture of a woman. "Your mother?" she asked. 

He jumped. "I didn't know you were behind me." 

"I figured," she said as she sat down on the edge of his desk. "Otherwise you would have hidden the picture before I could see it." 

"I wouldn't have...on second thought, you're right, I probably would have," he admitted as he put the picture down on the desk. 

She smiled and picked up the photograph. "So is this your mother?" 

"Yeah, that was taken a year after we left Boston. It was the last picture she ever had done before...." 

"She's beautiful," Sam said, as she handed the picture back to him. "What was she like?" 

He shrugged as he stared at the picture. "Beautiful, cultured...fragile. She bruised easily," he finished with a frown, then he seemed to realize what he'd said. "I don't remember as much about her as I would like," he said as he put the picture away. 

"I know how you feel. We never remember as much as we wish we would, do we?" John shook his head. "So, what's you plan for the evening?" 

"Nothing much. Do you think this guy is going to go after the kid from last night again?" 

Sam blinked at the sudden shift in the conversation. "Well, I don't think he's going to go back to his gym routine right away. We spooked him last night, he's going to have to change his MO a little. It's a possibility. That's why we put a guard on him. Why?" 

"I was just curious." 

"You're going over there, aren't you?" He wouldn't answer, and he wouldn't look at her. "It's not your fault we didn't catch him, John." 

"Yes it is. Even if it was an accident, it's still my accident." 

She sighed. "When do we leave?" 

"What?" 

"If you're going to go watch him, then I'm going with you." 

"Oh no. I can do this alone." 

"No. I was your partner last night. If it's your fault, then it's my fault too. Besides, you're exhausted. You'll just spend the night sleeping in your car outside his apartment if I don't go along to keep you awake." 

He glared at her. "Is there any way I'm going to talk you out of this?" She shook her head. "Fine. Then go get your stuff, because I'm leaving in five minutes, with or without you." 

*** 

An hour later they were sitting outside the apartment where Charlie Nahm, the intended victim from the night before, lived with his mother. Sam was going over files using a small reading lamp while John sat back in his chair and stared out at the entrance to the building. Sam was having trouble concentrating because her thoughts kept straying back to John and his current problems. Finally, she gave up on the files, turned out the light and sat there in the dark silence. 

After a few minutes, that began to get to her as well. "So," she ventured, "you didn't tell me much about your mother earlier." 

"That's right, I didn't." He stared straight ahead and remained silent. 

Sam waited for a few seconds, then made a frustrated noise. "What does it take to get you to talk to me?" 

"I thought you said you were giving up on pushing me." 

"I thought I could. I was wrong." 

He laughed. "Now those are words that rarely come out of your mouth." 

"If you don't want to talk, then don't, but don't make this about me." 

"I'm sorry. It's just... it's hard. I don't even like to think about it, much less discuss it." 

"I know." They sat in silence again for several minutes. "You know, my mother died when I was little, but other than that, I had it pretty easy growing up. Angel's Mom raised me and treated me like one of her own. I breezed through college, where I met Tom, and we had a fairy-tale kind of romance and marriage. My life was almost perfect, until Jack came along." 

"You think Jack is your payback for having a too-perfect life?" 

"That's not what I meant. At some point everyone has to deal with situations that make or break them. Whether that point comes when you're a kid, or an adult, surviving it teaches you one thing--that you can survive." 

He glanced over at her. "What's your point?" 

"You survived everything that happened. Why is that so hard for you to accept?" 

"Once again you've lost me. I accepted it, I moved on. What's the problem?" 

"If you've moved on, then why is it still there inside you?" He didn't answer. "If there's one thing I've learned from the last five years, it's that you can't get rid of things until you let them out. If you lock them up, they stay with you." 

"So I talk to you about my mother and I'm cured. Just like that? Is that what you're saying?" 

Sam shook her head. "You're deliberately misunderstanding me." 

John slammed his fist into the steering wheel. "What do you want me to say?" he yelled. "You want to hear about the day I came home from the hospital and holed up in my room, afraid to go near my father, even though I could hear him yelling at my mother, even though they fought, even though I knew he was hurting her? You want me to tell you about the night we left while my father was away on 'business'? Or how about the rapid succession of cities we moved to trying to stay one step ahead of him, how about that story? No, wait, let's just skip to the kicker, the one where my mother goes off to work one day and instead of her key in the lock at the end of the day I hear a knock from a cop who showed up to tell me she was dead? You want to discuss my childhood traumas, there's a good one." He pounded the steering wheel once more, half-heartedly this time, then sagged back into the seat, staring straight ahead. 

Sam stared at him for a minute, trying to clamp down the emotions his obvious anguish was arousing in her and be objective. But she couldn't quite do it. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "Maybe I should just leave this alone." He needed a neutral observer, not someone who wanted to help him pound the jerk who caused the problems. 

He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, sure, just when I think you might be right, then you finally realize you don't want to hear it." 

"That's not what I meant--did you say I might be right?" 

He didn't answer for a moment, then he nodded. "Saying all that hurt like hell. It brought everything I was trying to forget right to the front of my mind and I hate that. But after I said it...I don't know, it just felt different." 

"Different how?" 

"I don't know, a little--" whatever he was about to say was halted as an alarm pierced the night. "That's coming from the Nahms' apartment!" They jumped out of the car and ran for the front door. 

*** 

When they arrived close on the heels of the assigned guard, it was to find out that the boy had accidentally set the alarm off opening his window. The situation was quickly sorted out, and they returned to the car. As soon as they were comfortably seated, Sam brought up the subject again. "About what you were saying before the alarm--" 

"I don't want to talk about it any more. Not now." He looked over at her, his eyes hidden in a shadow, and she couldn't tell whether she should be hopeful or worried. "If you're still willing to help me, though, I might be willing to try again when I'm not in the middle of stakeout." 

She hesitated. It was a huge step, and she was afraid to say no, but she wasn't sure she could separate her feelings and be objective. "Would you rather talk to someone you don't really know--" 

"No. If you don't want to help me, that's fine, but I can't...it just wouldn't work. I trust you. And I don't trust people easily, no matter how it looks." 

She knew what he meant. He trusted his colleagues not to get him killed, but when it came to his emotions, John Grant didn't trust anyone. She pushed her mild misgivings out of her mind. "I want to help. Whenever you want to talk, let me know." 

He nodded. "Thank you." 

*** 

They stayed outside Charlie Nahm's apartment until after three, when Sam finally convinced him the suspect wasn't going to show. He offered to drop her at the firehouse and give her a ride in the morning, since they were closer to her home than the office anyway. She accepted, grateful she didn't have to take the extra time to go get her car, and hopeful that he'd feel more like talking in the morning. 

When he picked her up the next day, she wasted no time. "So," she said as he pulled out onto the road. "Still feel like talking sometime?" 

"You don't give up, do you?" he complained, sparing her a quick glance. 

"Not when something's important." 

"This isn't something I can just bring up in casual conversation, Sam." 

"I'm not asking you to. Just promise me you'll talk to me?" 

He shot her an irritated look. "I said I would." 

"Good. How about lunch?" 

He sighed. "If it will get you off my back, then fine." 

*** 

Sam got caught up in a case in the morning, so it was after one before she made it to John's desk. "Had lunch yet?" 

He looked up from a report. "Is it lunch time already?" 

"It's past lunch time. Come on." 

John suggested they try a new place a few blocks from the office. Sam suspected he didn't want to run into any of the other agents, so she agreed. "So," she said after they'd placed their orders, "what do you want to talk about?" 

"The Braves?" She raised her eyebrows. "Okay, not the topic you wanted to discuss. Let me guess, you want to talk about my mother." 

"Or your father." 

"Let's stick to my mother for now." 

"Okay. Tell me about your mother." 

John took a drink of water. "My mother was...a lady," he said, his voice low. "You know, gentle, kind, the perfect mother, the perfect wife. Nothing ever got to her--well, not that she let on anyway. Anything too unpleasant to accept she just ignored." He avoided looking at Sam as he spoke, as though if he couldn't see her, she wasn't really hearing this. 

"Including your father's business and his treatment of you." 

It wasn't a question, but he nodded. "I know she didn't like what he did, but she'd married him for better or for worse, and if she didn't know most of it was going to be worse, that was her problem, and she just had to deal with it." 

"So she let him treat you like dirt?" The second the words were out of her mouth, Sam wished she hadn't said them. It wasn't something you were supposed to say in this situation, but then she'd known from the start that she couldn't be completely objective. 

"He wasn't that bad. At the time, I thought it was normal discipline, but now I know he took it a little too far. Still, he was harder on her than he was on me." 

"He hit your mother?" 

John nodded as he studied his water glass. "Not very often, because she usually went along with whatever he said. But if he was in a bad mood, then that didn't matter." He looked lost, and she wanted so badly to comfort him, but she knew that would be the last thing he would want, and it would also end the conversation. So she waited in silence for him to continue. "My room was a few doors down the hall from theirs, but I could still hear my father when he started yelling. And from the sounds...well, it was pretty obvious what he was doing." 

Sam could picture him as a little boy, huddled on his bed, trying not to hear the sounds echoing down the hall. She forced back her tears. "So your mother put up with it until you ended up in the hospital?" 

"Yeah." The waitress arrived with their food. When she was gone, John continued. "She didn't like lying to the police. She went along, but she didn't like it, especially since it hurt me. She told me once that she had made the promise for better or worse, not me, and that her responsibility to me was more important than any vow. So she took me out of there. And it got her killed." 

"You don't know that." 

"I *do* know that," he responded, finally meeting her eyes. "We spent three years on the run from my father. I learned the signs, I knew when he was getting close and we'd have to move again. I was one month away from my high school graduation when I saw the signs. But my mother didn't want to leave until I graduated. Two weeks before I graduated, she had her 'accident.' I was tailed by my father's men after that." 

"What did you do?" 

He shrugged, turning his head toward the window. "I buried her. I graduated--I figured if it meant so much to her that she died for it, the least I could do was see it through. And then I turned eighteen, and moved to Georgia by way of California." 

"California?" 

"I didn't want him to find me for a while, so I changed my name along the way and left too many trails to the wrong places, and as little of a trail as possible to the right one. By the time I saw the men tailing me again, I was a sophomore in college. I was boxing to earn money, and doing street fighting on the side to earn even more. And I knew what I wanted to do." 

"Become a police officer." 

"Or join any kind of law enforcement agency that would have me. I wanted to put men like him behind bars. Who I was doing that with was irrelevant." 

She smiled. "I can almost see you showing up for your first day of training, ready to lock up every criminal you thought you saw." 

He managed a slight smile in return. "Pretty much. But it didn't take long for me to care about the job for the sake of the job, and not because I put my father's face on every guy I arrested. I was doing something good, and I was good at it." 

"I read somewhere that 'Every thing you are is a reflection of every place you've been.' As painful as all of that was, you survived. Not only that, but you turned out to be a great cop, and a decent human being. And we both know that decent human beings are in pretty short supply." 

"So what, you think I should be grateful for what happened to me?" 

"No, not at all. What happened to you shouldn't happen to anyone. But it did. You got past it, and became a wonderful man. Now you need to let it go. It can only keep hurting you as long as you let it." 

"You think I haven't tried to put it behind me? I have. But I don't know how. Maybe if I catch my father, it'll end, I don't know." 

"So you live your life hoping you catch your father in some illegal act and get to throw him in jail? What if that never happens?" 

"I don't know. I think it will." 

"And until then you put your life on hold because you can't let go?" 

He put down his fork with more force than necessary. "I don't know how to let it go, don't you get it? If you have a suggestion, now would be a good time." 

"I'm not you, I can't figure it out for you. But you're not going to find a way if you've stopped looking." 

He checked his watch. "It's getting late, we should get back." 

*Right. End of session for today, Dr. Waters.* "Okay." John signaled for the check and insisted on paying, then they walked back to the office in silence. 

*** 

Late that afternoon, John stopped Sam as she was leaving her office to go to the forensics lab. "Hey...are you free for dinner?" 

She thought about the growing pile of case files on her desk. "Sure." 

"Good, thanks." He consulted his watch. "An hour?" 

"Sure, that should give me enough time to get to a stopping point." He nodded and headed back to his desk. She watched him leave, then turned around and went back into her office and made a phone call. "Mrs. Rose, this is Samantha Waters, from the FBI. I was wondering if Tommy was up for visitors?" 

*** 

A little over an hour later, John knocked on her door. "Ready?" 

"Sure," Sam said, closing the folder on her desk. She picked up her bag and they walked to his car in silence. As he was pulling out of the parking garage, she spoke again. "Can we make one small detour?" 

He glanced at her suspiciously. "What kind of detour?" 

"I wanted to go check on Tommy Rose. I talked to his mother this afternoon, and she sounded a little frazzled. I thought we could at least reassure her that he was safe. Besides, I think Tommy might calm down if he saw you. He liked you." 

"What time this afternoon?" 

"What?" 

"What time did you talk to her?" 

She looked out the window, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't remember exactly." 

"Before or after I asked you to have dinner?" She didn't answer. "Sam...." His voice held a warning tone. 

"Oh, all right, after," she admitted, turning toward him again. "I thought it would do both of you some good." 

His jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything else, he just pointed his car in the direction of the hospital. Neither of them spoke a word until they reached Tommy's room. His mother was just coming out of the room, looking tired, but her face brightened when she saw Sam and John. "Agent Waters, Agent Grant, it's nice of you to stop by." 

"How's Tommy?" Sam asked. 

"He's okay. Healing slowly but surely, as the saying goes." 

Sam gave her a sympathetic smile. "How are you?" 

"I'm...okay. It's hard, knowing what happened to him...or even worse, what could have happened." She paused for a second. "Have you caught the man who did this yet?" 

"Not yet. But we're much closer now than we were." 

Mrs. Rose nodded. "So I hear. Forgive me if I don't jump for joy just yet." 

"I understand. We will let you know when we catch him." 

She nodded again. "Did you want to say hi to Tommy before you go?" 

"We'd like that." They followed her into the room. Tommy appeared to be asleep, but he opened his eyes in response to his mother calling his name. 

"Hey, it's the feds," he said with a smile. "Come to grill me again?" 

John stepped a few steps closer to the bed. "Your eye looks better." 

The boy shrugged. "It feels better, so I guess so. Once I stopped squinting it didn't take long. Thanks for the tip." 

"No problem. When are they springing you from this joint?" 

His smile turned into a frown. "Who knows? All Mom tells me is 'When you're ready, dear.'" 

"Thomas! Behave!" His mother's smile took the sting out of the words. 

"See what I have to put up with?" he told John with an exaggerated sigh. 

All three adults tried to hide their amusement. "You'll miss it in a few years, you know," John said finally. Only Sam knew how much that statement reflected on him instead of the Rose family. 

A nurse came into the room. "I'm sorry, but visiting hours are over for now. You can come back at seven." 

"Wish they'd kick me out," Tommy grumbled. 

"You'll get out soon enough," John said. "Just do what they tell you and you get out faster than you'd think." 

"Easy for you to say, you're a grown-up, you can leave anytime you want." 

John smiled. "Not always. Tell you what, though." He pulled a card out of his pocket and held it out to the boy. "If it gets too stuffy around here, give me a call and you can at least complain about it without your mom getting mad at you." 

"Really?" He took the card cautiously, careful not to touch John's hand. "Thanks." 

"No problem. Just don't forget to use it if you need it." 

"I'm sorry," the nurse said as she walked in. "Visiting hours in this ward just ended." 

Sam and John said goodbye to Tommy and his mother and left the hospital. Neither one of them said anything about the Roses until they were eating dinner. Sam brought it up with a casual, "Mrs. Rose looked a little tired, didn't she?" 

"Yeah, I guess spending all your time with your son at a hospital can do that." It wasn't hard to hear the bitterness in his voice. 

"It's not Tommy's fault she's there all the time." 

He looked at her sharply. "I never said that it was. He can't help what happened any more than she can." 

"Or any more than you can help what happened to your mother." 

"Nice try. But it's not the same." 

"Why, because it happened to you?" 

"No, because Tommy's mother is still alive." 

Sam sighed. "You are not responsible for your mother's death." 

"I know that." 

"Then act like it." 

He played with his food, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "I can't." 

"Why? Why is it so hard if you know it's not your fault?" 

"Because no matter how many times I tell myself it's not my fault, a part of me still feels guilty, and responsible." 

His voice sounded more like a lost boy than the cocky cop she was used to. "We're going around in circles here," she said tiredly. "We both know it's not your fault, but you can't let go of the guilt." 

"I have an idea that just might work." He put down his fork and looked at her again. "What about hypnosis?" 

"What?" 

"Hypnosis. You know, put me under, tell me it's not my fault five times, then bring me out and I'm cured." 

"No, John, I don't think--" 

"Come on, Sam, you know how to do it, right?" 

"Yes, I know how, but--" 

"It's perfect. You told me to find a way to let go of my guilt, well here it is." 

She chose her words carefully. "Hypnosis isn't what you think. You need to deal with your feelings in order to let them go. If I were to put you under and tell you not to feel guilty, all you'd be doing is repressing the guilt. That's only making things worse." 

"Why? As long as the feelings aren't bothering me does it really matter how it happens?" 

"They'd just come back. And it would be worse the next time." 

"You don't know that." 

"Yes, I do." His hand was lying on the table; she covered it with her own. "You've been pushing these feelings away all this time--has it helped?" 

The muscle in his jaw twitched. "I was fine until this case brought it all back up again." 

"Were you? You said you've had problems with nightmares before. What are you going to do, live without sleep and be miserable for months every time something like this comes up in the line of duty? Are you going to let your father control your life forever?" 

He pulled his hand away from hers. "Let's just drop it, okay?" 

"John--" 

"I don't want to talk about it any more right now." 

"Okay." They both pretended to eat dinner and then rode silently back to her car, speaking only to say goodnight. 

*** 

Sam was just coming back into the living room after reading Chloe to sleep when the phone rang. She grabbed it quickly. "Hello?" 

"Okay, so maybe you have a point." 

She blinked. "John?" 

"Yeah. I was thinking about what you said at dinner. The last thing I want is the old man having any influence over my life, much less making me miserable." She waited silently for him to continue. "And if you say the hypnosis won't work...well, I trust you. But if that isn't the answer, then I'm at a real loss here." 

She got comfortable on the couch. "It's different for everyone. You have to find your own way to exorcise your demons, that's why they're yours and not someone else's." 

"How do you deal with Jack?" When she didn't answer right away, he continued, "I'm sorry, forget I asked." 

"No, it's okay. I just didn't realize it was that obvious that I felt guilty about Jack's victims." 

"I guess I'm just intimately familiar with the signs of guilt." 

She could hear the smile in his voice, and it brought an answering smile to her face. The smile faded, however, as she thought of an answer to his question. "I guess I've just learned that it's out of my hands. There's nothing I can do that I'm not doing already. It's his sick obsession; he's the one killing, not me. It comes down to either letting him control my life, or taking charge and refusing to let him run me. I tried the first one for a long time, but after a while I realized I couldn't live like that. So I stopped." 

"And the guilt went away?" 

"Not completely. But when it comes back occasionally, I deal with it, and it goes away again." 

He was silent for several moments. "I don't know if I can do that. I mean, I know my father is no Jack." 

"No, but it's all relative. Jack didn't kill my mother." This time he was silent for so long she wasn't sure he was still on the line. "John?" 

"Sorry, I'm here. It's just...that's the first time anyone's actually agreed with me about my mother's death not being an accident. It was strange to hear it out loud." 

"If you say it wasn't...well, I trust you," she said, repeating his earlier words. "You have great instincts, and you were closer to the situation than anyone else. You should know." 

"Thanks. Why weren't you on the case all those years ago?" 

She laughed. "Because I wasn't out of college yet?" 

"Well if you want to be picky...." He sighed deeply. "I should let you get some sleep after keeping you up half the night last night." 

"Are you going to be okay?" 

"Eventually, yes. I just have to figure this out for myself." 

She smiled. "Well, you may have to figure it out for yourself, but any time you want to talk it out, you know where to find me." 

"Thanks. A lot." 

"Any time. See you tomorrow." 

"Night." 

Sam hung up the phone, then headed off to bed, wishing she could fix everything for him. "You can't fix the world," she muttered to herself. Not that it ever stopped her from trying. 

*** 

Sam walked into the VCTF at 11:30 completely flustered. She'd had to go to Chloe's school as soon as she'd gotten to work that morning because of some boy threatening Chloe, and by the time she'd straightened it all out and gotten her daughter back to class, it was almost lunch time. She noticed John wasn't at his desk as she walked by the stairs. 

Grace was waiting for her in her office. "I heard you were on your way in. We have a suspect." 

"In the child murders? How?" 

"Fingerprint off the Nahm boy finally paid off. Took a little longer because it was only a partial, which makes it inadmissable, but the guy fits your profile, and we're pretty sure it's him." 

She took off her coat. "How sure?" 

"John and Bailey are down there talking to him now." 

"John's interrogating him?" 

Grace nodded. "If anyone can get a confession out of this guy, John can." 

*The question is what would he do to him to get it?* "I have to go down there," Sam said as she hurried out of the room. 

When she walked into the room outside of the interrogation cell, she saw Bailey watching the interrogation through the glass, and she calmed down a little. Bailey wouldn't let John get out of hand. Unless he couldn't get in there fast enough. He turned as he heard her come in. "You're back." 

"Looks like it," she said with a smile. "This the killer?" 

"You tell me. Dave Hues, twenty-eight, still lives at home, three priors on sexual offenses toward minors, hell, you know the profile, you can figure out the rest of it." He handed her a file anyway. 

She glanced at it, then looked back at John talking to the anemic-looking blonde man on the other side of the glass. "Why don't you let me talk to him?" So far, it looked like things were going okay, but given the crime and John's feelings, that could change fast. 

Bailey shrugged. "John's handling it. If he doesn't get anything soon, you can give it a shot." 

Sam bit her lip, wondering how to get John out of there without betraying a confidence. Before she could formulate the plan, the sound of raised voices and overturned chairs did the job for her. John had Hues against the wall before Bailey could even get inside to stop him. Sam watched from the doorway as Bailey pulled him forcibly off the suspect. 

"He's ready to sign a confession," John said, his voice uneven with anger. "Admitted the whole thing." 

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "Just like that?" 

John glanced quickly in her direction, then back at Hues. "He doesn't care. He enjoyed it. It's all on the tape. Type it up. He'll sign it." He left the room and hurried out the other door and up the stairs. Sam threw an apologetic look at Bailey, then followed. 

She chased him through the VCTF, calling his name several times, but he didn't stop, although she was sure he heard her. By the time she caught up, he was in his car with the radio up full blast so he couldn't hear her yelling his name as he drove off. 

*** 

Hues signed the confession and they transferred him to the local jail to await his trial. Sam called the Rose and Nahm families and informed them the killer had been captured. She promised Mrs. Rose they would visit Tommy soon. And still there was no sign of John. Most of the day shift had gone home and the VCTF was half-empty when Sam heard a knock on her door and looked up to see John. "Hi," was all he said before walking in and dropping onto her couch. 

"You look like hell," she commented as she walked across the room. She sniffed as she sat down beside him. "And you smell like a brewery. How much did you drink?" 

"Not as much as you think. I got into a fight and got a lot of beer on me, not in me." 

"That would explain the bruises and the cut on your head." She got a tissue from her desk and dabbed at his wound, causing him to wince. "You should get Grace to clean that up." 

He shook his head lightly, the movement obviously not completely comfortable. "I'd have to explain what happened, and I just can't. Not right now. It'll be fine." 

"Okay." She stopped fussing with the cut and just studied him for a moment. "Are you doing okay?" 

"Actually, I think I'm better than I have been in a long time." He laughed at the look of surprise on her face. "I know, it doesn't look like it. But I got kicked out of the bar after the fight, and I had a long time to think. It was my father that made me go looking for that fight, just like all the times in the past. He made me stay up nights with dreams, he made me look over my shoulder, he practically made me an orphan, but he couldn't make *me*, not the person he wanted to make me anyway. And if I wouldn't let him do that, then obviously I didn't have to let him make me do anything else." 

He sighed. "I'm tired of letting him run my life. I haven't seen the man in over fifteen years and he has more of a hold over me now than he did when I lived under his roof. I understand what you meant, about not letting him control my life. People can only control you as long as you give them the power. I just have to stop." 

"Just like that?" Her tone suggested it wasn't quite that easy. 

"Well, I didn't say I could go cold turkey. But it's different now. It's like I can tell when I've let him take over, and when I know it's him causing my actions and not me, it makes it easier to stop." 

Sam smiled. "Sounds like you've got it figured out." 

"I think so. And my first step is going to be to bury my mother." 

"I thought you did that already." 

"Well, not really. I kept her inside, afraid to go visit her grave, afraid to admit that she was really gone because I thought it was my fault somehow. But it's not." He looked down at his hands. "I'm having her moved to a cemetery here in Atlanta. I can go visit anytime I like, and I don't have to forget her, but I can still move on." 

"Good for you." 

"I couldn't have done it without you." He met her eyes. "Thank you." 

She shrugged. "You did all the work. You figured it out on your own." 

"You've been here for me, forced me to talk, gave me a direction to look for the answers...I'd say you helped a lot." 

"Well, you're welcome then. " 

They sat there in silence for several minutes. "Did Hues sign the confession?" he asked finally. 

Sam nodded. "He's at the jail until he goes to trial." 

"Good. Did you tell Tommy?" 

"I did. His mother says he wants to see us." 

He raised an eyebrow at her, then winced again. "Really?" She nodded. "Feel like going by there tomorrow?" 

"Sure." 

"Okay. I should go home and get cleaned up," he said as he stood. He stopped when he reached the door and looked back at her. "Going home soon?" 

She nodded. "I have one or two more things to finish here, then I'm out." 

"Okay." His eyes held hers. "Thanks again." 

"Anytime." She watched him leave, then pulled herself up and went back to her desk to finish her work so she could go home. 

*** 

Both Sam and John were extremely busy the next day, but they managed to find time to go to the hospital in the early afternoon. Mrs. Rose gave them a huge smile when they reached Tommy's room. "Agent Grant, Agent Waters, I can't thank you enough." 

"Don't thank us," John said, looking at Tommy. "It was Tommy's information that ended up nailing the guy." 

"What happened to you?" Tommy asked, ignoring the compliment and asking about John's injuries instead. 

John smiled wryly. "Another fight." 

"You should stay away from those guys if you can't take 'em." 

"I know, but certain people seem to have a problem with cops and I just don't have a choice." 

Tommy shrugged lightly, conscious enough of his injuries not to cause himself more pain. "Did I really help put that guy away?" he asked uncertainly. 

John nodded. "Your information helped us stop him just as he was about to hurt someone else, and from that we caught him." He ruffled the boy's hair. "Like it or not, you're a hero, kiddo." 

Tommy smiled. "I think I like that. Do I get a medal?" 

"If I have to make you one myself, you will." 

"Cool." 

Sam spoke up for the first time. "We have to get back, but we wanted to come see how you were doing." 

"Ready to get out of here, but they won't let me." 

"Well," John said, as he reached into his coat pocket, "when you get out, you're gonna want these." He laid an envelope on the boy's lap. 

"What's this?" 

"Open it. It's not a medal, but I think you might like it even better." 

Tommy ripped open the envelope. "Braves tickets! Alright! And behind home plate, too! Cool!" 

"That's not all. Look again." 

He inspected the envelope closer to find a letter. He read it, then looked at John, wide-eyed. "Is this for real?" 

John nodded. "Someone from the Braves will come get you at the end of the game to take you to the locker room to meet the players." 

"Man, who are you?" 

"Someone with a few connections," John answered with a smile. "Take your mom to the game and have fun." 

Tommy frowned. "She doesn't understand baseball." 

"Then explain it to her. She doesn't know what she's missing." 

He looked at the tickets, then back at John. "Thanks! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" 

"No problem. Have fun." 

They said good-bye and left the room. "How did you manage that one?" Sam asked once they were outside the building. 

He shrugged. "I have a few friends here and there." 

"I'm impressed." 

"Really?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out more tickets. "Impressed enough to go to a game with me?" 

"I don't know...." 

"Come on," he pleaded, spreading the tickets out to show that there was three of them. "Isn't it time Chloe learned the basics of baseball?" 

Sam smiled. "How can I refuse an offer like that?" 

"You can't. Consider it a thank you present." 

"Okay." They got into his car and drove back toward the office, enjoying the feeling that came when the good guys actually won. 

______ 

The title of this story comes from a song called "Children of Eve" sung by Linda Eder. It's a wonderful, haunting song about child abuse and the lasting effects. 


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